Still Waters
by Searlait
Summary: A picnic, some wine, and a slip in the water - Kristoff and Elsa in the aftermath of an accident.


**Written from a Tumblr prompt by annaandkristoffbjorgman: ****_And so it made me think of (not to late to keep scrolling) Anna being really hurt. And Kristoff is carrying her, one arm dangling and her head back. Her bare feet bouncing with every rugged step he takes. Eyes closed and mouth slightly open. They're away from any sign of civilization, swimming at some secluded lake he knew growing up. He's shaking and whispering to himself about how sorry he was. About how he should of been more careful. About how he could have stopped it from happening. And he falls to his knees and brings her head up and holds it to his chest and sobs. _**

* * *

If Anna would ever have a perfect day, she thought it might be this one. Late spring, warm and breezy, and Kristoff back at the castle – finally – and he had suggested a day out; out into the hills north of the city, a picnic, a lazy afternoon. Anna was ecstatic. And though he rolled his eyes, he let her elaborate on his simple plan, so that he was soon packing into the sled several parcels of food prepared by the kitchen staff, rather than a basket of sandwiches. She liked to get the most out of things; who knew when she might get another chance?

They invited Elsa, but she waved them off with a smile: "Too much to do. You have fun." And as much as she adored spending time with her sister, Anna was a little relieved – particularly since she'd snuck two bottles of wine into the parcels of food. It had been several weeks since she'd had any time alone with Kristoff.

He took her to a little copse of trees by a slow-moving stream. Rolled up his pants legs while she pulled off her stockings, holding her hand as she adjusted to walking barefoot over slippery rocks. She shivered in the delicious chill of the water lapping around her ankles. To the surprise of neither of them, she lost her balance as soon as he let go of her, falling with a surprised cry and a floomph of skirts, and he chuckled until she grabbed him behind the knees and pulled him off-balance, and then they were both in the water, laughing and splashing and spluttering. Eventually – perhaps inevitably – she found herself pinned beneath him on the shallow incline of the bank, his lips soft and feverish against her own, his hands hungry as they danced across her arms, her waist, her hips. She sighed and clung and arched against him. After almost a year, she still found herself desperate for him, even after only a few days' separation.

At some point, they remembered to have lunch. Well-fed and with both bottles of wine emptied, they talked for awhile of nothing in particular – his work and Elsa's; plans for the summer; her hopes for attending festivals she had heard much talk of but never experienced. Kristoff eventually stretched out on the picnic blanket, arms crossed behind his head, and when conversation finally dropped off, so did he.

Anna watched him for awhile, fascinated, briefly, by how beautiful he looked, relaxed and at peace, his hair more flyaway than usual as it dried in the breeze. But the wine had made her jittery; she wasn't used to having so much, and she felt restless, unfocused.

She got up, without thinking reached back to dust off her skirt – and realized just how filthy it was. Kristoff on top of her on the bank when her clothes were soaking wet; of course she was now a muddy mess. Elsa was going to assume the worst – already, there had been several lectures about "boundaries" where Kristoff was concerned – and that would be the end of perfect days like this one.

Unless she could get cleaned up, and quickly, before Kristoff woke and it was time to go. It didn't have to be perfect – just enough that she could claim she'd slipped and fallen in the mud, and maybe get only a faintly disbelieving look instead of a ban on unsupervised picnics in the countryside.

She left Kristoff asleep, walked down to the stream, following it to where it got deeper as it bent around a craggy outcropping of rock. She stepped into the water without slowing, without caution.

Maybe it was the wine at fault. Maybe, never having done this before, she had already forgotten how slippery the rocks had been earlier. Maybe it would have happened regardless.

It didn't matter, really.

Her foot slid out from under her.

* * *

Kristoff woke slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, stretching. He was for a moment disoriented – used to waking outside, but not under a late-afternoon sun. Then one spread arm smacked an empty wine bottle – sending it clunking against the other – and it came back: the picnic, the water, Anna's firm little body pressing up against his own. He sat up with a smile, wondering if she might be ready for more of the same – perhaps this time with less clothing between them. His clothes were still damp; probably would be a good idea to get them off. And hers – he wouldn't want her to catch a chill, after all.

But Anna was nowhere in sight.

He looked around, bemused – he couldn't have been asleep for more than a few minutes; the sun had hardly moved across the sky. Even Anna, as much trouble as she usually found, couldn't have gone far in that time – and why would she have gone anywhere at all?

He stood and looked around again – trees, stream, remains of picnic. No sign of her yellow-and-green dress, or the vivid copper of her hair. No movement – not even a breeze rustling through the trees. No sound.

"Anna?" he called.

Nothing.

"Anna!" Louder, more insistent. She probably thought it was funny – some kind of game. She'd certainly found it highly amusing to jump out at him all over the castle. "C'mon, Anna – I know you can hear me."

Still nothing. And she was not particularly good at suppressing laughter.

He walked a few steps into the trees, looking around, down – even up, though he didn't think she would be able to scale these smooth trunks. She had surprised him in the past with her ability to do the seemingly impossible.

But he didn't see her – up, down, or anywhere at all.

And he didn't like it. Something about the total stillness, the silence, was unnerving. "Anna, not funny anymore, okay? Come on out."

He walked to the edge of the little wood, to where they had left the sled, but the only sign of life there was Sven, who was happily eating up all the flowers in the meadow. Kristoff could see for miles here – no Anna. Nonetheless – trying to ignore the unease building in his chest – he called her name once more.

She didn't respond.

He could feel his heart beating faster, strides matching it, as he plunged back into the copse, eyes searching frantically now. He called again, and again, shouting now, a ragged edge in his voice. Memories came unbidden – of running through ice and wind, her name pounding through his head, terrified he might already be too late.

And he had been.

He had to find her.

Forcing himself not to run, to take deep breaths, not to let panic take over – he had to keep a clear head, consider possibilities. Except he had none, because there was nothing here but trees and -

The stream.

Anna barefoot, laughing, arms extended and hands clutching his. The bottom of her dress already soaked, dragging in the water. The way her cheeks rose when she smiled, the light sparkling in her eyes and bringing out the stands of gold in her hair.

The stream.

He ran.

Back to the spot where they had gone in – but no sign of her. Looking left, his line of sight extended past the trees. But to the right, the stream curved around a craggy little outcrop – and he caught a glimpse of yellow.

"Anna!" A breathless exhalation – and then he was running, through the stream, the quickest route. Green-and-yellow dress. The copper of her hair. They moved gently in the water.

Nothing else did.

He heard a strangled little moan, was only half-aware he had made it. Stumbling now, reaching for her, going down in water no more than six inches deep, crawling, grabbing, gasping. His fingers found her arm, clenched around it, hauled her up and out of the water. He pulled her to him and clung to her, as if that might somehow make it all better.

She was limp, cold, pale – but now that he had her, he could see the blood on her face, pinked by water, and more of it matted in her hair, just above her ear. She must have slipped, hit her head on the rocks.

She wasn't breathing.

He heard another desperate little moan escape him, as he cradled her and splashed towards the bank. He had to keep his head – he knew that. How many accidents had he seen out on the ice, how many guys who had fallen through? Calm was essential.

Spreading her on the ground, resisting the urge to rearrange her sprawled arms, the unnatural twist of one foot, he instead bent over her, tried to force air into her lungs. Her lips were clammy and cold. Only two hours before, her kisses had been adamant, as intoxicating as the wine.

A broken sob pushed through him. He ignored it – focused on Anna. Still trying to force her back. Breathing for her, making himself breath deeply, to have enough for her.

He had no idea afterward how long he knelt there, breathing into her, feeling for her own breath, a heartbeat – any sign of life. _Anything_.

Anna looked so tiny – helpless and lost, and so unnaturally still. Anna who ran and slid and danced and leapt, who wriggled like a puppy when she was excited, whose smile lit up a room.

He had never told her he loved her. Not in so many words. He had never shared a bed with her, holding her warm and close as she slept, watching her sleepy eyes awaken. He had never taken her back to his family – though she had asked – to admit they had been right after all. He had not done enough to show her she was the most amazing, beautiful, precious woman in the world.

She was so still.

Finally, it was too much – lightheaded, shaking, sobbing, he collapsed beside her. He put his arms around her, drew her close. Pressed his face to hers – and felt the ghost of an exhalation against his cheek.

He let out a hoarse cry, sitting again, laying her back again gently, so gently, and placed one shaking hand to her chest. Faint, thready beat beneath his fingers – her heart. And the rise of her lungs, slight pulls, but _there_. There. _Alive._

"Anna," he whispered.

But she still wasn't conscious – she gave no other indication of life, much less that she heard him, knew he was there. The wound on her head was oozing, now that her heart was pumping blood to it again – the only other sign that she was alive, but certainly not a good one.

He needed to get it patched up. He needed to get her back to the castle and into the hands of experts. And he needed to do it quickly.

He put his arms beneath her, lifted her gently, almost reverently, cradling her against him. When he stood, her head fell back; one arm hung limp, the other tucked awkwardly against his chest. Her lips were parted, face still pale, all those freckles standing out like a brand. Blood was half-dry against the swell of her cheek.

He stared at her for a long moment he knew he couldn't spare, wishing desperately and silently for a sign of movement, of consciousness – for any sign of life at all. But she was cold and still. He adjusted his hold, bundling her more tightly, more safely against him.

He walked as far as he dared back to the sled – aware of the need to hurry, but fearful of jostling her, of making her condition worse. It looked like maybe the wound on her head had stopped bleeding, but he worried it was hopeful imagination.

There was a bedroll in the back of the sled – thick, layered and lined, like the sled itself a hundred times nice than anything he'd had before – and he grabbed it along with the tin of medical supplies, juggling them and Anna in shaking hands as he climbed up to the seat. He laid her gently across it, her head on his lap. There was gauze, bandaging – he got her patched up as best he could, trying to ignore the loose way she moved, boneless and heavy. Smoothing the hair back on the uninjured side – it was coming loose from her braids, drying in clumps and tangles.

He spread the bedroll over her, tucking it around her. Her skin was still so cold.

Then he took the reins in one hand, holding her in place with the other. "_Go_, Sven!"

* * *

Late afternoon – the endless piles of paper pushed aside for another day, advisors dismissed, a few blessed hours of freedom. Elsa smoothed her dress down, took a deep breath, sought calm, relaxation. She was tired. She was always tired.

She closed the door quietly behind her, shutting work away until tomorrow. Walking slowly down the empty hall, the silence broken only by the click of her footsteps, she considered what she might do for the evening. She'd been translating _Notre-Dame de Paris_ for Anna – Anna's French was abysmal. If she finished the next chapter, they could read it when Anna and Kristoff got back from their picnic.

She was detouring towards the library when she heard the commotion in the entrance hall: shouting, cries, boots hurrying across tile, a door slamming. And in the cacophony, two clear words: "Princess Anna."

Elsa ran. Without a thought, without hesitation – she ran.

The entrance hall was already in chaos – half the castle staff seemed to be there, every one vying to make his voice heard, and in the center of it all was Kristoff, shouting right back, hunched protectively. He flinched back anytime someone got near him, and Elsa caught another word in all the commotion: "physician."

It was Anna he was hunched over, Anna he would not let anyone approach, Anna limp and still in his arms.

In an instant, the temperature in the hall plummeted. And eyes turned to Elsa, quiet falling as she walked across the room – but her attention was focused entirely on Anna.

"What happened?"

Kristoff looked at her with eyes deadened with shock; his voice trembled: "She was in a stream. She slipped and hit her head and… and I found her there. In the water."

Elsa's breath caught. "Is she-"

"She's breathing. But her head…"

She snapped around to the nearest of the gawkers, a servant in the uniform of the kitchens. "Send for a physician. Immediately."

"Yes, your majesty." And to his credit, his bow was brief, and when he left, he ran.

Elsa ignored the rest of the onlookers; she turned back to Kristoff. "Follow me. Let's get her to her room." Knowing perfectly well he knew the way – but she wasn't letting Anna out of her sight. Not for an instant.

They went in silence, though she could hear the frequent catch in Kristoff's breath. She knew how she must look – calm, collected. Cold. Her whole being was focused on keeping herself that way – under control. Her heart was pounding.

Anna went to her bed still limp, responding to nothing. Kristoff arranged her carefully, so carefully – removing her shoes, stretching her arms out to a pose that spoke more of sleep. He stroked her hair back, as if searching for an excuse to touch her. Elsa could see the bandage he'd applied, bright white against copper.

She kept her distance. Her hands she clasped together, at her waist, where they couldn't make things worse. The room was cold, but the thought of leaving was more than she could bear.

"How long was she in the water?"

Kristoff's shoulder's slumped; he hung his head. "I don't know."

"You don't _know?_"

He looked at her with eyes like a wounded animal. "I fell asleep. After lunch. When I woke up, she… she was gone."

Elsa felt something cold and angry – bitter – coiling inside her. He must have seen it – he looked quickly away, back to Anna.

"You took her out there," Elsa said – surprised at the vitriol in her voice, but feeling no need to hide it. "And you allowed this to happen to her."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry."

His head rose again. "Yes. _Sorry_. I brought her back."

"You-" Then it hit her – the implication of his words. She felt the sickening little swoop of it in her stomach, and the surge of cold at her fingertips fighting for release. She wouldn't let it. "I appreciate your bringing her back. But now I think it might be best if you left."

His eyes were locked on hers. He was holding Anna's hand. "No."

"_No?_"

"No. Your majesty."

She opened her mouth – and was interrupted by a firm knock at the door. It opened without an invitation, heralding the no-nonsense entry of the court physician. He carried a black bag and the grave expression Elsa remembered well from childhood sniffles and scrapes.

Without hesitation, he went to Anna, began removing the bandaging from her head. "Tell me what happened. In detail."

* * *

Elsa left about halfway through the recitation of events. Kristoff – still talking, monotone and dazed – watched her go, saw the slump of her shoulders and the fear in her eyes and the way she cradled her hands. He felt for her, but he had also been prepared to fight to remain with Anna.

He had left her once, and it had almost meant losing her forever. Some superstitious part of him felt that by staying, he could save her. Elsa might blame him for what had happened – that was alright. He _was_ to blame. But he wasn't leaving. Queen or not, sister or not – he wasn't leaving.

He did allow the physician to send him to the hallway, once the story of the day had been told. He closed the door, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms – no further. His head hurt. So did his chest – he felt like he had as a child, when it sometimes felt like he would explode if he couldn't find an excuse to cry, relieve the unbearable tension inside himself. He _wanted_ to cry. Almost as much as he wanted Anna.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was small and sad – all command lost, the queen put aside. The voice of Elsa.

He finally found her – looking around the door frame of her own bedroom as if fearful of attack. She ruled a country, but she was several months younger than he was, hardly any bigger than Anna, and he suspected she had just desperately released a controlled blizzard inside that room. She was as alone and afraid as he was.

"Me too," he said. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I never thought…"

She almost smiled, though her brow remained drawn. "No one ever thinks, with Anna. She's a… she's a beautiful force of nature."

He was surprised to feel something like a smile himself. "Yeah. Yeah, she's definitely that."

Silence fell for a few moments, during which time Elsa crept closer – reminiscent of a child sure she wasn't allowed to be out. She stopped several feet away, still twining her hands together, endless twisting and untwisting.

"I told her she could fly," she finally said softly.

"Huh?"

"When we were… She couldn't have been more than four years old. I was just teasing her. I told her that if she climbed high enough, she could jump into the wind and fly."

"And she tried to do it."

"Of course she did. She climbed one of the apple trees and threw herself off. She broke her wrist. We were banished to separate bedrooms until further notice. Except Anna – the one who hadn't done anything, the one who was hurt – snuck out after bedtime to find me."

He couldn't keep back the smile this time – he'd never known Anna to put herself first, and he wasn't surprised she never had, even in earliest childhood.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is…" Elsa took a deep breath, looking down at her hands. "I've hurt her, too. So many times. So many…" Her voice caught.

He reached out and took her hands – untangling them, wrapping them in his own and gently squeezing. She looked up, startled – but she allowed it.

"She told me the same story," he said. "Except in her version, you came up with the idea together, and she came to find you because you were the only one who was punished and she didn't think that was fair."

For a long time, Elsa just looked at him. When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper: "She really told it like that?" Her eyes turned to the closed door, beyond which Anna lay – living or dying.

"She really did." He didn't know what else to say.

And maybe there was nothing else – they lapsed again into silence. He let go of one of her hands, but kept the other – simple reassurance that neither of them was out here waiting alone. Elsa's skin was as remarkably smooth as Anna's, dry and cool, her fingers delicate but her grip strong and sure.

Hand in hand, they waited.

Beyond the door, there was only silence.

* * *

Elsa still rarely touched – the idea, in most cases, simply held little appeal, and felt like inviting trouble besides. But there had always been times when she had longed for it – once, Anna's hand had been so often in hers they might have been one being.

Her hands in Kristoff's felt strange, uncomfortable; she resisted the immediate urge to pull away. In the ten months she had known him, she had, as far as she could recall, never touched him at all, not so much as a hand on his shoulder or brushing against him in passing. He had certainly never touched her – some rules of society were so inviolate they might have been sacred.

But today was different. And she could feel the rough, warm skin of his hands, the strength in them – and though she had always known it deep inside, it hit her conscious then, how gentle he must have to be with Anna. How gentle he _was_.

And amongst her fear, Elsa realized how much she loved him for that.

She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

"She'll be alright," he finally said. But she wasn't sure if the words for her, or himself.

They waited.

The hall grew darker; eventually, a maid came through with a taper to light the lamps. She bowed to Elsa, who smiled and nodded, wondering if word of Anna's accident had spread among the staff – surely it had. Secrets were hard to keep in a castle.

When the physician finally emerged, night had fallen. He looked tired and grim, and there was little in his eyes to offer hope when he turned them to Elsa. "I'm sorry, your majesty," he said. "I've done what I can – she's cleaned up and comfortable, but… the head wound I suspect has caused swelling. And swelling in the brain…" He pursed his lips and shook his head. "The only thing to do now is wait."

Elsa felt Kristoff's hand leave hers; he scrubbed it over his face, rough and frantic, then quickly turned away from them, towards the wall.

"I'll come back in the morning," the physician continued, "unless she worsens in the meantime."

"Thank you," Elsa said.

He nodded. "Yes, your majesty."

Kristoff remained facing the wall, his shoulders hunched, his head hanging. Elsa reached out and – after a moment's hesitation – rested her hand on his back. "Let's go see her."

"You go," he muttered, his voice thick. "I… This is all my fault."

She pulled her hand back, folded it with the other before her. She stared at him. She tried to decide how to say what she wanted to say: "Anna told me you were there the night I… When we went to the trolls."

After a long pause, he said, "Yeah."

"It was my fault." He started to speak, but she continued over him: "No. It was. But I let that blame take her from me. I let _her_ suffer because _I_ made a mistake. Don't do to her the same thing I did."

He half-turned; his eyes were closed, his face haggard. "Don't. It's not-" He stopped, stock-still, and his eyes opened wide. "Cold. You hit her with… We need cold. Ice."

"What?"

But he already had the door open with one hand, her arm in the other; he was tugging, pulling her inside. "Ice – we need ice! Or snow, if snow's easier. Just… cold."

She had little choice but to follow him. "Kristoff-"

He stopped at the end of the bed. His eyes were almost manic. "_Ice_. Cold decreases swelling. If you-"

But Elsa was already backing away, hands raised – defensive – and trying to fight back panic. "No. _No_. I can't."

"Then just…" He looked from her to Anna, eyes wide and pleading. "Give me some. Please."

She was almost to the doorway. She crossed her arms, tucking her hands away, and shook her head. Looked away from him – and her gaze fell on Anna.

Anna still so pale and lifeless; her face bloodless, eyes closed, the barely-perceptible rise and fall of her chest her only sign of life. There was a fresh bandage around her head, neater than Kristoff's hasty work from earlier. The blood had been wiped from her face.

"Please," Kristoff said again.

Elsa closed her eyes and bit her lip. Opened her eyes – she looked at Kristoff, pulled her left hand free. She concentrated briefly. Snow coalesced above her palm.

Kristoff pulled a scrap of cloth – a handkerchief? - from his pocket, wrapped it around the snowball, and went immediately to kneel beside the bed, holding the makeshift compress to Anna's temple. His face was set and determined. Elsa tucked her hand away once more, self-conscious – both from using her magic and the strange intimacy of the scene before her. She felt like she was violating a place made sacrosanct – Kristoff's love for Anna.

She remained where she was, then – near the door, not entirely certain of her place here. She didn't want to leave, in case Anna woke up. Or in case she never woke up.

Cold crept across her nerves, seeking egress. Elsa ignored it. It had no place, no in Anna's room – a room that should have been full, always, of warmth and life and laughter.

Anna had been deprived of all those things much too often, betrayed by those she should have been able to love and to trust – Elsa most of all. And was she without blame here? Not at all – she had wanted her evening free, so had declined a midday picnic. If she had gone, Anna might have come home fine.

Elsa had gotten her free evening – free to wonder if she would ever again see her sister's eyes open. As a child, Anna had often stayed awake half the night and then been impossible to arouse the next morning. Did she still do that?

Elsa didn't know.

The hours wore slowly on.

She pulled a chair from the wall for Kristoff – he was still on his knees beside the bed – and one for herself. They were old, heavy things, intended more for appearance than comfort. But she had grown used to them – sitting beside the door in her own bedroom, listening for the cold comfort of life ongoing on the other side.

Kristoff held snow to Anna's head until it was nothing more than wet on his piece of cloth. But there was no response from Anna. He slumped back in the chair, clutching the sodden handkerchief, and closed his eyes.

Elsa wanted to say something. But nothing came to mind. She wanted to smooth Anna's hair back, or hold her hand. But she was afraid.

"I was actually thinking at lunch," Kristoff said softly, "you know that phrase – 'still waters run deep'?"

"I'm familiar with it."

"Anna just proves how wrong that is, I thought – she's a… she's a torrent. But that hides everything inside her. All that depth. All the rest of her – she's deeper than anyone I've ever known."

Elsa smiled at him, though he couldn't see it. "That's a wonderful way to describe her. Just… don't tell _her_ that."

His lips quirked up in a brief smile of his own, but it was gone in an instant.

Left unspoken was the possibility that making that decision – to tell her, or not – might never come.

* * *

Anna's head hurt. It was the first thing she was fully aware of – a deep, thrumming ache that began just above her ear and then seemed to reverberate around her head, an endless, nauseating cycle of pain. She groaned.

The next thing she was aware of was that she was lying on something soft – something that felt suspiciously like her own bed. Which was strange, because the last thing she clearly remembered was falling in the stream, after lunch, and hoping she couldn't hurt herself.

She suspected she had hurt herself.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes – squinting briefly against the stab of pain through her tender head, then opening them wider, staring up at the familiar half-canopy over her bed. The light in her room was pale, early-morning sun, and the room was chilly.

She tried to move – curling her fingers, lifting her hands up. Her clothes made unusual crackling noises; they were stiff and heavy. She still had on the dress she'd worn for the picnic.

Everything seemed to be working. But she was confused, and the slightest movement made her head throb anew. She reached up – carefully – and put a hand to the worst of the ache: bandaging. Definitely had hurt herself.

She tried to raise her head – couldn't; it hurt too much, felt too heavy. She contented herself with turning it instead, slowly, stubbornly determined.

Beside the bed, she saw them: Kristoff and Elsa. His head was thrown back, mouth open, legs askew; she was slumped to the side, her hands in her lap but her head on his arm. Both of them were sound asleep.

* * *

Kristoff woke to the sound of Anna's laughter.


End file.
